The Beginning
by NaturalSAB
Summary: Sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better. At least, that's what Hermione Granger is telling herself. Six years post-war. Love Potion. DMHG.
1. The Winter of Our Discontent

**OK so I this **_**other**_** story called "The Straw That Broke the Camel's Back" that I loved the concept of, but not the rest and so this is what that story has morphed into – so if you were following that and see it has been deleted DO NOT FEAR. Hopefully you will like this one even more! In essence, I stopped writing that one because I realized I didn't want to do **_**another**_** story at Hogwarts and I wanted to see how these characters would interact as grownups! In essence, this new story revolves around the same plot device as the old one i.e. a love type potion causing the arc of the story. I have tweaked that part a bit though, I thought it made **_**much**_** more sense this way than in the previous story where Hermione **_**purposefully **_**gave Malfoy a love potion! Hope you guys ENJOY. I have had much trepidation about posting it because I wanted to finish this in its entirety before putting it anywhere...but I'm too damn needy for some feedback. **

Chapter 1: The Winter of Our Discontent

_Sunday, January 16, 2005_

Hermione Granger shuffled along the deadly slick sidewalk in the thick January snowfall; flakes stuck to her eyelashes, wool hat, and drenched her entire person. Part of her yearned to cast a quick warming spell, but she could not risk it in this muggle neighbourhood. Besides, she scowled to herself, her completely miserable physical state suited her black mood much better.

_Fwomp_ she spun to her right as the collapse of snow from a rooftop cut through the darkness and snowy din. Beyond that she caught a glimpse into a warmly lit apartment; an attractive couple shared a glass of wine over a succulent-looking roast chicken.

"Bollocks," she hissed to herself, accidentally plunging an already-soaked boot deep into an icy puddle. _Fuck it: flagrante!_ She roared internally, too overwrought and exhausted to care about being caught performing magic any longer. No one would be out anyway. Normal people were wrapped up inside surrounded by lovers, friends, family…_joy_.

She grumbled to herself to drown out her inner pity party as the hidden flame's warmth gave her the strength to soldier on and attend to the matter at hand; finding the flat.

It truly was a miracle that she had found this place, she reminded herself, a good apartment only two weeks after Christmas was almost unheard of, especially in London.

Warmth tingled life into her hands and she stomped her numb feet while scanning the addresses, urging herself onwards.

"76 C Perrin's Walk," she sighed as she squinted to read numbers against the snowfall and dull streetlamps. _Fwomp_ another glob of snow came down close to her right and she clutched her hat to her head. It had to be coming up soon, she encouraged herself, any moment now-

There!

A tall colonial-style home stared back at her similar to the countless others she had passed. Hermione couldn't help smiling; she'd made it! And it didn't look half bad. She trudged up the front steps, pulled open the charming gate, up more stairs to the door, and buzzed the bell. She sighed as she waited to be let in and looked warily around her. A peek inside revealed a well kept set of stairs. Sturdy-looking and wood. It could definitely be worse. She dared say it looked promising.

_Whoosh_ she barely noticed a figure approach and was swept up in the warm air washing over her from the open door,

"Alright there honey? You must be Miss Granger? Well come in, come in dear!"

A plump and bespectacled woman motioned her inside and Hermione had to hold back tears. A friendly greeting felt like a long lost hug, the anonymity was a safe haven, and the heat felt so damn good! When had her life turned so bleak she would feel so moved by the simple offerings of a strange place and person?

"I'll take it!" Hermione choked out, surprising herself and the woman equally, "I will take the flat Mrs Ellerdale."

HP*

Draco Malfoy spun his wand expertly between his long fingers; he was two hours into his afternoon sulk in his enormous Bayswater's Wizarding District flat and feeling immensely sorry for himself. Beyond his bedroom door he dimly registered the sounds of afternoon tea being assembled, conversation, and…_laughter_ which caused him to shiver with disgust and scowl scathingly.

He had the worst fucking roommates on the planet.

"Oi Draco," one of them called to him, "Tea's ready if it so pleases your majesty."

"How rude Zabini," Blaise jumped back as the door sprung open unsettlingly and his curmudgeon of a roommate emerged. Draco's back hunched tensely; his body was a tangle of sinewy muscles beneath his all black ensemble. Blaise resisted the urge to roll his eyes, now recovered from his earlier shock. Malfoy had not taken tea with them for the past two weeks.

"To what do the miserable peasants Miss Parkinson and I owe this honour?" Blaise mock bowed as Draco helped himself to the tea and refreshments that Pansy had not fully finished assembling.

"I have something to discuss with you," Draco explained in a clipped tone as he took up half the space at the massive and ornate table. Blaise and Pansy shared a knowing look before he dropped an affectionate kiss on her cheek. The last time they'd had a "discussion" Draco spent an hour delineating bathroom schedules.

Blaise raised his eyebrows expectantly as he filled up his plate,

"Sit" Draco answered as he motioned to the table's eleven other chairs, "Let's be civilised at least."

"You wouldn't know civil if it came out of your hair product," Pansy jibed as she sat a few chairs away from him.

He merely grimaced and buttered a scone in response.

Blaise settled next to Pansy noting with dismay his broody roommate's increased pallor. He had hoped the last almost year and a half of living together and getting Draco out of that mausoleum of a Manor might help his friend somehow, but Draco's six year long bad mood streak never seemed to end.

"Should I be worried?" Blaise voiced into the silence only half-serious.

"What's there to worry about?" Draco spoke with mock-excitement, "Or haven't you heard? I've a massive inheritance, a job where I'm paid thousands of galleons for doing nothing, and a never ending string of willing witches!"

Pansy coughed as she swallowed an incredibly large gulp of scalding tea, "That article was," she gasped, "A load of utter rubbish. I cannot believe you would even spare it a second thought."

Blaise nodded, "It was pure filler mate. There's always a lull they need to fill after the holiday. Especially now that the frenzy over the Weasley-Granger split has died down," Blaise shrugged, "They need something to print."

"Of course I've not wasted a bloody moment on that trash," Draco hissed, even though he was in the paper often enough he considered investing in it, "I'm just sick of the two of you hovering over me like I'm about the fall apart. That article is right; my life is abso-fucking-lutely perfect. I wish you both would just fuck off already. You're worse than my _mother_."

Blaise looked over to see Pansy's face wracked with hurt and he felt a flash of hot temper grip him at the ruthlessness of Draco's attack.

"Now wait just a bloody minute Draco," he raised his voice, "Don't you start taking this out on Pansy and I. We have been nothing but good friends to you. And don't bullshit a bullshitter. We both know you're not all right," a hint of colour rose on Draco's cheeks, "But we leave you to your own devices, lord knows," Blaise was yelling now, "We overlook every sodden thing that you get up to."

A muscle in Draco's jaw clenched and twitched, "I am going to move out."

Pansy's teaspoon clattered down on the table,

"Draco! Please don't go. You don't have to! Blaise and I love having you here-"

"Yeah Draco, please. You are so more than welcome here. We picked this place out with you in mind mate, it just wouldn't be the same without-"

Draco put up a hand to stop them. Blaise frowned and Pansy's face creased with worry.

"This place is suitable enough, however, it is clearly meant for a couple or a family," he paused, "I'm a rich twenty-four year old bachelor. You two have been together for _four years_ and are heading towards," he shivered internally, "_marriage_. I've no place here and you don't deserve to have me brooding constantly or stomping in pissed with strangers at all hours," he could see Pansy wavering, she _could_ definitely use the space away from Draco, "We all know I can afford it and you only keep me around because you're afraid I'll Avada myself."

"I assume," Blaise cleared his throat, "That you've already found a place."

"Almost," Draco sniffed aristocratically and finished the rest of his scone, "I'm thinking Hampstead. A lot of young and loose muggles there I hear."

"Draco!"

"Kidding," he put up a hand again, "Like I would ever _openly_ sully myself with a muggle."

Both Pansy and Blaise snickered, "Good to see this move is lifting your spirits enough to go after muggles," Blaise continued, "But seriously Draco, I don't want to see you go."

Draco sipped his tea and shrugged, "It's time. I won't return to the Manor, but I need my own place. It won't be until my last project at the Ministry has blown over," Malfoy scowled darkly, "The bloody thing is ruining my life."

"Ah yes," Pansy's eyes shone with amusement, "How is our favourite war hero faring in her latest attempt to slip a piece of legislation past her merciless overlord?"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, "She's disconcertingly determined," he looked up with a hint of a smirk, "Emotional gutting gives her more pitiful free time than usual."

"Is that why you've been more lovely than usual the past weeks?" Blaise inquired sarcastically, "All the extra time you had to spend tolerating her hounding?"

"No thankfully," Draco set his teacup poshly on the table, "She has been so tied up with her ridiculous Charter of fucking Self-Righteousness that I rarely see her. I think she believes if she does enough work on it the thing will actually pass," He raised his cup to his perfectly formed and smooth lips, "It's almost a pity the time she's wasted on the thing as I never plan on voting it through," He paused thoughtfully and sipped, "If she'd spent that much time taking care of Weasley she might still have him."

Pansy sucked in a disapproving breath and he shot her a challenging glare,

"Did I hit a sore spot Pans?"

"It's just," Pansy couldn't help but interject, "We all know she's a horrible muggle born suck-up and snob, but this holiday really has been awful to her; she's in the press every other day, she's been completely embarrassed in front of the entire wizarding community, especially after his New Year's fling," Both men looked surprised that she followed the story so closely, "Oh hush! It's everywhere! Plus, Potter got engaged and her parents have been abroad for months! Couldn't you, you know, give her a break?"

Draco was shocked Pansy would defend their Gryffindor rival so strongly; he didn't like mentioning to anyone of his circle the real story behind his working in Granger's Department, namely that she was clearly _his_ boss, or his motive for thwarting her Charter. It was frankly embarrassing to constantly admit to being her lackey and the fact that most of them ignored the press kept it a relatively unspoken of affair. Until, he scowled, this bloody Charter had been shedding unwanted light on the situation.

He looked lazily to Blaise, "Blaise, are you seriously dating a woman who is defending Hermione Granger, the woman she bullied mercilessly at school and beyond, to me because of a minor breakup?"

"Draco," Blaise began cautiously, "You have to admit you are rather…ruthless when it comes to Granger.

"Granger's complete failure of a life has no meaning to me, except to remark that I am not surprised," Draco clenched his jaw, "If she presented valuable legislation I would not object to voting for it. I am completely fair."

Pansy guffawed, "As fair as a bought judge-"

"As Snape dealing with Gryffindors-"

"As Goyle dealing with alcohol-"

"Alright," Draco stood with an air of power and intimidation in spite of the fatigue in his face and death in his eyes, "It's no secret that there's no love lost between Granger and I. Now give me some peace before I have to deal with the blasted bint tomorrow."

HP*

Hermione dragged in the last of her boxes up the large flight of stairs, across the landing, and mercifully into her flat. _Finally_, she huffed as the closed the door to 76 C Perrin's Walk, she could use magic! Her landlord's, Mrs Ellerdale's, brother had insisted on helping her carry everything so she wasn't even able to use the feather-light charm. She exhaled and blew a sweaty clump of curls off of her forehead.

Now, she looked around her new flat piled high with bins and boxes, it was time to set up her new life.

She charmed her things to find their proper place while moving around the apartment to manually arrange the finer details. It was hard to believe, after the last month she'd had, that she had lucked out so fully when she impulsively took this flat only last night.

It was cute, clean, warm, and feminine with a lovely entrance into a warm and white kitchen with sage green cabinets and light wood countertops with a half-circle and sizeable table up against the opposite wall. She bought fresh white daisies, no doubt out of season and shipped in from somewhere far away, she fantasised, to sit atop the shelf and hooks where she hung her coats and hats. Off of the kitchen there was a cozy and bright sitting room complete with a white brick fireplace and two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, soft and sage green carpet, high ceilings and lots of natural light. Last, but not least, was another hallway off of the kitchen leading to a modest, but nice full bathroom and a gorgeous bedroom in which her gigantic and brand new bed was currently setting itself up with a thousand count organic cotton sheets and a plush white duvet.

Hermione breathed in the comforting scent of fresh laundry and collapsed back into her mind-numbingly comfortable bed with a sigh. It was her private oasis away from the prying, and cruel, eyes of the wizarding world. No one, not even her parents, had any idea about this place on 76 Perrin's Walk and she intended to keep it that way. It was easy to keep the Grangers in the dark at the moment as they had been abroad in Australia for the past four months and not returning until the end of January. She still felt bitter that her mother was not around to comfort her in the wake of everything; "I'm so sorry dear," Mrs. Granger had trilled over skype while Hermione sat in a dingy muggle internet cafe, "Things will turn up though, I'm sure." Her mother smiled warmly, but Hermione knew better. They had never really liked Ron. Her parents were highly educated and could be quite the academic snobs; Ron's intellect had apparently failed to impress them. Despite the fact that he helped save the entire Wizarding World apparently, she aggressively rolled her eyes in frustration, he was not near the top of their Hogwart's class and therefore inadequate. She had never told Ron, fearing it would make him even more anxious and insecure, and her parents kept it so well hidden only she could detect the slights, but it still irked her.

Hermione shook the unpleasant thoughts away and refocused on her new room in her secret flat. According to the papers she was currently couch surfing with each and every bachelor of Quidditch's elite; drowning her sorrows in copious amounts of alcohol and unavailable men after the most recent development in the Weasley-Granger breakup.

She picked up the paper that shot out of the bedroom's tiny fireplace and smacked her on the head. There were, however, some things even boarding oneself up in the heart of Hampstead Village in muggle London couldn't protect one from unfortunately. She had to remain connected to the Floo Network for instance, which meant she would still receive this rubbish news. She had requested to have all of her mail redirected via floo instead of by the usual owl post; she had learned this would circumvent a lot of unwanted questions from her muggle neighbours.

Now, on the other hand, she would no longer have to deal with the stories and tips about her doings and whereabouts; the majority of her money was safely locked up with the Royal Bank of Scotland and all anyone in the wizarding world would know of her was her work at the Ministry and her attendance at mandatory social functions. She flicked open this latest edition, preparing for the worst;

_Ron Weasley, _it read, _spotted having a late dinner with busty brunette as Granger is seen wandering in a drunken stupor around Diagon Alley_._ Perhaps Quidditch's elite no longer fancy her warming their beds?_

She slapped down the paper with a huff and sat up. Yes, she had been to Diagon Alley yesterday to finish up some last minute business before the move, namely terminating her common law status with Ron and formally ending her lease on the apartment they'd shared with Harry, but she certainly had not been in a "drunken stupor," nor "warming the beds" of anyone. "Angry stupor" or "Shocked stupor" maybe, she stretched onto her stomach, the bloody Prophet could at least attempt to keep up some semblance of being a reputable paper and get that correct.

Hermione scanned the full article more out of habit than out of interest, seeing that they did in fact mention the nature of her business yesterday.

"Incendio!" She had cried before she even realized it; the paper burst into flame before her and engulfed its poisonous content in one smoky belch. Her eyes were wide in shock and pride. She cleaned up the mess with a flick of her wand choosing to ignore her currently unstable mental state. First, renting a flat on complete impulse and next performing magic without consciously meaning to…

_Knock_, _knock_ she heard softly and skipped quickly towards the front door. She had promised Mrs Ellerdale that she would have Sunday dinner at her flat in the basement and it was half past six now.

Hermione dusted off her light blue jeans, smoothed down her simple black sweater, and shook out her unruly hair.

"Coming," she felt startled from the ringing of her own voice in the quiet after having been ensconced in solitude for what felt like ages.

"Hello," Hermione smiled as the cheerful Mrs Ellerdale appeared in a printed apron and modest dress on the landing, "Thank you again for inviting me to dinner Mrs Ellerdale."

"Nonsense!" The delightfully plump landlady exclaimed, "You just moved in and it's back to work tomorrow. I can't have your first dinner here be alone with horrid takeout," she bustled Hermione onto the landing, "Let's have a look at you."

Hermione bristled under the scrutinizing gaze and tugged at the hem of her sweater. "It's been," she wriggled awkwardly, "A…_trying_ holiday season for me this year Mrs Ellerdale. I'm a-afraid I haven't quite kept up with myself…" Hermione mumbled apologetically and stared intently at the wood floor. What if this woman had somehow stumbled upon a picture of her? What if she _knew_? Or worse, what if she could just _tell_?

"Bollocks," Hermione started upon hearing the woman curse and looked up into her laughing face, "You're a lovely young woman Miss Granger and I certainly don't feel sorry for you," Hermione smiled weakly, infinitely thankful again for the freedom of anonymity, "Let's head down shall we?" Mrs Ellerdale ushered and mothered Hermione down two flights of stairs and into her pleasingly bright basement flat.

The table was already set with a steaming bowl of what looked to be chicken soup. Hermione felt her stomach grumble and her mouth salivate.

"Sit, sit!" Mrs Ellerdale insisted reminding Hermione painfully of Mrs Weasley. She quelled down the sting and desperately hoped Mrs Ellerdale didn't have any sons.

"I always like to get to know my new tenants," Mrs Ellerdale insisted as Hermione seated herself and scanned the apartment for family photos, "Like to know who I'm living with you know? I only own this one place and I haven't housed a bad egg yet!"

"Excellent," Hermione forced out cheerfully, "You must meet some interesting potential tenants."

"Oh yes," Mrs Ellerdale agreed as she took a large spoonful of soup, Hermione followed suit and almost groaned with pleasure as the warm broth exploded with flavour and warmth in her mouth and glided down her throat, "People are extremely interested in this area," she slurped her soup loudly and Hermione couldn't help but find herself liking her. Mrs Ellerdale seemed honest, kind, and brash.

"Most definitely," Hermione went on, "This is such an amazing find, truly, I was so surprised to find it on the market especially at this time of year," Mrs Ellerdale nodded,

"Oh yes, there was a lot of interest and I turned many a person away," Hermione felt her interest pique; she had let her take the flat so easily after Hermione made an offer without even seeing the place. She let Mrs Ellerdale continue, "We still have one more vacancy on the top floor above yours. 76 E. Every other floor is divided between two flats, but the top floor is entirely E's. I expect not many bachelors can afford such a large space," she paused, "Well, not many that I like anyway."

"Oh," Hermione slurped down her soup hungrily, "I had no idea you were turning people away-I mean-I practically threw myself at your feet! I must have looked such a complete fright yesterday…I can't believe you would be willing to let me have it."

Mrs Ellerdale smiled, "Your resume and references were both impeccable and you were so wonderfully…desperate."

Hermione choked, "Wow," she coughed, "I'm that obvious, huh?" It felt so good to talk to someone who knew nothing about her; so unthreatening although her landlady could still sense her desperation. It was just so freeing to talk to someone who didn't prejudice her for being Hermione Granger. To Mrs Ellendale, she was just another down on her luck young woman. Not a publically dumped and thought-underemployed war hero.

"Afraid so dear," Mrs Ellendale patted her hand softly, "But you also had a spark about you. A bite. I like that."

Hermione felt unreasonably flattered, "Oh," she swallowed, feeling once again on the brink of tears, "Well, thank you. That's very nice."

They continued slurping in silence for a moment afterwards and she suspected Mrs Ellendale was giving her a moment to collect herself.

"So that flat upstairs" Hermione returned to the non-threatening subject, "There are plenty of wealthy young men here in London and even some must be tolerable although I currently cannot attest to that," the two chuckled amicably, "I could definitely help you advertise if you'd like? I've had some experience advertising for roommates."

Mrs Ellerdale looked sincerely touched, "Oh would you? I knew you looked like a smart cookie!"

"Top of my class actually," Hermione heard slip out, her misery and desperation hungry for any sort of recognition, "I mean," she interjected, "That was a bit vain of me. I apologize."

"Oh nonsense!" Mrs Ellendale waved her apology away, "Good for you girl!" she beamed, "I would absolutely love to have the woman from the top of her class help me out. I'm not much for computers or technology myself."

"Great," Hermione felt herself break into a real smile, "I'm just finishing up on a major project for work, but as soon as I'm done I will let you know and get right on it."

Mrs Ellendale expressed her greatest thanks again and the two finished their meal in companionable and, Hermione admitted, even enjoyable conversation. When she left full of hot soup and many undeserved compliments courtesy of her adorable landlady Hermione felt almost human. And she would need that boost for tomorrow during the largest presentation of her career in the Department for the Protection of Magical Rights. She would need that little selfish nugget of a happy moment to help her through dealing with _him_.

HP*

Malfoy arrived at the modest second floor office customarily late and completely unruffled. He scoffed for the thousandth time at the fact that this joke of a Department wasn't relegated to the basement only because of its painfully famous employee.

He passed the blonde and practically brainless secretary, tossed his coat and umbrella unceremoniously over two cubicles onto his desk, and headed to the tiny coffee counter for his fourth coffee that day.

It was nine o'clock.

He glanced disinterestedly at yesterday's paper, taking silent pleasure at the unattractive moving photo of his boss snivelling like the pathetic old maid she was amongst the mounds of ice and snow in Diagon Alley. Another, equally unflattering photo of Weasley flashed beneath that of him ducking out of an upscale restaurant in a sea of flashbulbs with a nameless woman on his arm. Malfoy begrudgingly admitted that she wasn't completely hopeless looking.

"Mr Malfoy," a soft and earthy voice spoke behind him.

He sucked in a warning breath.

"Miss Granger," of course she ignored his warning in favour if catering to bloody Granger, the _traitorous wench_, "Requests your presence at the meeting this morning promptly."

"Well Whittenmoore," Draco spun around and expounded harshly, "Glad to see your social awareness is as dim as usual this morning. Tell Miss Granger that although I may be forced to work here as punishment for my family's past misdeeds, I am still guaranteed my government regulated coffee break," the woman blinked back tears, "Cheers," he raised his cup mockingly and stormed past her and to his desk where he threw himself down and seethed venom. He dared anyone in this bloody office to even make eye contact with him today.

He sipped his coffee and glowered; desperately wishing he had an office with a door he could slam and not this pathetic cubicle. It was so demeaning. He pinched the bridge of his nose as his anger grew. Any moment now the bitch would be out here and yelling at him, any moment now he would be emasculated in front of the entire office – he breathed heavily – at least he had worked his way up the office food chain over the last year. Because now, he released the hold on his face, he had some sort of _power_.

He smirked - he could disband this project. This project and, effectively, this entire Department that represented the enormity of his failure and shame. And there was nothing she could do about it.

"Malfoy," she spat.

He spun around in his seat and sipped languidly, meeting her eyes filled with loathing. She was looking particularly _pinched_ today.

"That's _Mr_ Malfoy since the promotion Granger."

She fumed and he felt his anger dissipate further, "I should have sentenced you to Azkaban when I had the chance."

"Unlikely," he sniffed haughtily, "You were too soft to be an Auror then Granger and you still are. You couldn't even stick it out in that cushy, Ministry-appointed job and here I thought Weasley had been the weak link of the trio."

He watched gleefully as she bit back an infinite amount of insults and as a real sting of hurt flashed across her features no matter how hard she tried to hide it. She had been the one to assign Malfoy to this joke of a Department six years ago when she had just started working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, helping to dole out punishment amongst the Voldemort sympathisers and followers.

She had undoubtedly been overjoyed with the knowledge that she ensured that if the one and only Draco Malfoy wanted to have a job at the Ministry it would be fighting for the rights of all the half-breeds and mudbloods he had spent his entire life discriminating against and worse. His housemate and one time crony, Goyle, had also suffered the same fate.

Draco hadn't even shown up to work for the first four years of the position and instead squandered away his time and inheritance on booze, parties, travel, women, anything – anything to escape the hell of his home filled with haunting memories, his deranged mother, and the ghost of his incarcerated father.

He found evil and danger abroad, mostly with his arsehole of a second cousin, same as he had at home although he made absolutely sure to cover his tracks with only the odd highly dubious rumour making its way back home as tabloid fodder. His fellow Slytherins, namely Blaise and Pansy who found love and stability at home together, had been worried enough to attempt to force him back home on more than one occasion. A fact which only made him push farther and harder into the depths. It wasn't until he had sunk so low that he was destitute and almost committed while in Bulgaria and had to be bailed out by his crazy mother that he returned to the Manor and began sporadically showing up at this job mostly to break up his extreme ennui. He still sinned of course; gambling, fighting, sleepless nights, women, drink...

He hadn't even realized Granger _worked_ at the bloody Department until he had been showing up for a couple of months a year and a half ago when she breezed in, outrageous hair completely unfit for the public, in some sort of pastel blazer straight from a thrift shop, and _Weasley_ following close behind.

"Look at this office!" she exclaimed loudly, "It's lovely isn't it Ron? See? What did I tell you? I would have my own private office just like upstairs; they just moved this Department up here six months ago when I initially expressed interest."

Draco straightened surreptitiously in his chair to get a better view. Not that he cared or anything. Just curious as to why bloody Granger and Weasley of all people were showing up here in the middle of the day _assessing_ the place. Assessing as if…as if they-as if _she_-

"It's fine Hermione, but I honestly don't see why you need to switch departments and leave the Aurors. Our office is much nicer than this."

"Oh Ron," she pouted in what Draco assumed she thought was an attractive way, when in reality it was as boring and desperate as ever; four and a half years since he had last seen her and she was still as painfully plain. Everything about her was _dull_. Unkempt looking hair, nondescript dark eyes, a childish smattering of freckles, a forgettable nose, and no figure he could detect beneath her offensive and oversized wardrobe. She was the best someone like Weasley could ever hope for, but what anyone else saw in her was beyond him. Blaise wouldn't shut up about her lips when he was arsehole-drunk, Draco gave them a cursory once over, he supposed they weren't hideous.

"I don't want a nice office," she explained to Ron as if speaking to a third grader, breaking into his thoughts, "I just want to work _here_; fighting for the rights of the disenfranchised of the Wizarding World. I don't know how I didn't realize it sooner! I've spent all these years searching when it was right under my nose all along with my work in S.P.E.W."

"Well," Ron took a big breath and Draco could no longer had to see them only hear. If he could have smiled he would; it was the small blessings in life.

"Hermione if this is what you really want…"

"Oh Ron!" she squealed and the sound of her clutching him in a bone-crushing hug ensued, "This is so exciting! Oh I'm just so…_happy_! Let's go out to that Indian place to celebrate OK?"

"OK, well, err-I actually promised-"

"Ron! This is huge news! We've got to go out and celebrate…" their voices faded away as they headed towards the doors and out of the office.

Two weeks later and she had once again become the bane of his existence. It was as if the years between Hogwarts and now had evaporated and he had never left her grating, inane, and sunshine-overload Gryffindor presence.

Except this time the world was upside down.

This time she thought she had all the power, this time others were practically falling to their knees before her and constantly kissed her arse instead of fearing and longing to be him.

The only way he could counter this imbalance of power was to play her game and rise in the ranks. That was how he had become Assistant Deputy Head of the Department for the Protection of Magical Rights. He didn't care about magical rights, though he no longer held onto his old prejudices; Malfoy was a loyal member of the winning side whichever that may be.

No, he worked hard in order to make her life such a living hell that she would finally recant her ruling ousting him to this department for ten years and send him somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. The Department of Muggle Loving for instance or the Department of Albus Dumbledore's Memorial Upkeep Club…at this point he truly would go anywhere to escape this.

"_Malfoy_" her voice was pure venom and effectively cut his bleak reminiscing short, "Get. In. That. Boardroom. _Now_."

The only problem, he scowled in response, was getting Hermione Granger to swallow her pride and free him. She would literally suffer any abuse rather than do that and he had started to doubt that anything he pulled would sway her, he smirked, until now. Until this project.

The Charter of Rights and Freedoms for all Magical Individuals.

It was a gift that fell into his lap and kept on giving.

"I hardly think," he finally answered, "You need my presence in order to get on with your little meeting."

"You know," her voice was soft and deadly as she raked a hand through her hair, "That I cannot conduct this meeting without the Assistant Deputy Head of the Department."

He smirked up at her innocently, "Isn't bureaucracy a bitch?"

"I can still arrange Azkaban you soulless bastard."

He met her challenging glare with a hard look, "Anything would be better than this."

"God damnit!" She hissed drawing closer to him, "Doesn't this Charter mean anything to you? You've been working on it for _months_ and it may be the single most important piece of legislation produced this century," she tugged at her ill-fitting navy blazer, "I thought even _you_ would be better than this."

He stood and reveled in the inches he towered above her. She stared up at him defiantly as ever.

"This office was inept before I started showing up."

"Showing up," she snorted, "You use that term quite loosely."

"Funny," the threat was blatant on his tongue, "I was thinking of saying you did the same when composing the Charter to the Review Board today."

HP*

Hermione had never felt like using an Unforgiveable more than at this moment. Not even during the War.

She glared up into the hateful, and pale as ever, face of Draco Malfoy and saw nothing but red. He really was low enough to dismantle the biggest piece of legislation in an age. What the hell was he playing at? She wished she could read his mind just this once and figure out how to make him do this and cursed that he was such an accomplished Occlumens. A fact she learned from experience she recalled begrudgingly. She bit her lip, clearly idle threats weren't effective…maybe a more diplomatic approach?

She noticed a muscle in his taught jaw twitch and took a deep breath, "Look Malfoy, _Mr_ Malfoy," she amended quickly as he moved to interrupt, "You have been effective in this position and I have noticed that; that is why we in upper management promoted you. Let's put aside our differences and finally get this project over with. Then we can return to never seeing or interacting with one another unless absolutely necessary."

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and eventually gave the smallest of shrugs. Hermione almost cried in relief; this was the universal sign that Malfoy had given in. He would do this. _Just one more hour_ she told herself_ just one more hour and she would be home free, the legislation she had been dreaming of and working on in her mind for years would finally be a reality. Something would actually go right in her life._

She turned and strode into the room followed by the sulking, but present form of Malfoy.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she could finally begin, ignoring the clamminess of her hands and putting on her biggest smile, "I apologise for the delay," the five board members nodded politely, "Mr Malfoy is here now and we are ready to proceed."

Hermione settled between Malfoy, her secretary Mary Whittenmoore, and the Deputy Head of the Department Parvati Patil.

"Mr Granger," barked the board's leader, Hermione didn't bother to correct his mistake, the lack of knowledge about her or her personal life was always welcome and she did not want to risk offending him with the correction, "We have extensively reviewed your work and have come up with several questions to pose to your team," he glanced up passively, "If you pass this portion of the review, we will then move onto the Department-wide vote of confidence, and follow onto finalizing everything before it is officially turned over to the Wizengamot to be passed into law," he noisily cleared his throat, "Any questions?"

"Not from us!" Hermione heard her voice chirp, "All questions shall come from you alone from now on!"

She could practically hear Malfoy roll his eyes to her left. She almost couldn't blame him; she was acting insane. She would do her best to act normal; everything depended upon it.

"Right," the board leader furrowed his brow and then the entire board launched into an hour-long assault on the Charter. Her team performed fabulously; Parvati was an extremely competent addition to the team made a year ago, Whittenmoore was a bit spacey at times but knew the Charter like the back of her hand, and even Malfoy was contributing in a relatively polite manner. She could not have hoped for things to go better than this.

She waited with bated breath as the board tallied and discussed their responses. Finally, the leader looked up.

"OK Miss Granger," he stood up passing out an official looking sheet, "You passed. All that's left is the anonymous vote of confidence; you need support from the entire department in order for this process to continue. If you do not meet this requirement your department will be able to appeal this decision at the Wizengamot six months from now after taking the concerns of the Department into consideration and revising the work," he paused and gave her a smile over his glasses and mustache, "Although I doubt we will have a problem today will we?"

Hermione nodded, "No sir, I know I have the full support of my Department behind me."

She smiled back and helped him pass out the forms to the members in the board room with her and then out into the office to the eight other members of the department. She felt full of trepidation and excitement; it was happening, so many long months of work and then a Christmas filled with misery, but this one great thing was finally happening. Her hands shook as she distributed the forms.

Mary's serene smile swam in front of her face, "Congratulations Hermione," she grasped her hands, "You did it."

"We did it," Hermione managed, "Thank yourself and everyone," her voice rose, "Thank you everyone! We did it!" She thought she may have heard a weak cheer from the back cubicles.

Malfoy materialized in front of her and smoothly snatched a form from her hand, "Well, don't you look chipper Granger," she tried to ignore him, _just get through this-just get through this_ she tried to remind herself, but his voice bored into her brain.

She couldn't help it, especially in her extremely vulnerable and overwrought state, plus Malfoy was just so good at _getting_ to her. _She should have just walked away_ Hermione would think later that day. She should have bloody turned around and sprinted back into the board room. Instead, she stayed and she listened.

"In fact, I don't know who looked happier," he went on as she stood there like his willing audience member, "You about getting your stupid project passed or Weasley in the papers after he gave himself the greatest Christmas gift of all; leaving you."

_Slap_ before she knew it her hand was stinging from its swift contact with Malfoy's face. It swung and fell limply to her side and away from his hateful, horrible, and reddening expression just as she finally registered what had come to pass. She had hit him. Again. In front of the entire office.

She felt out of control, rabid, and crazed. She may have been foaming at the mouth for all she knew; she was so blinded by and consumed with hate; all those months bone tired from working on this, losing Ron, having an entire community knowing the most intimate and embarrassing details of her private life, or fabricating them and hounding her at every turn; Malfoy had finally pushed her too far. It was the last straw; nothing else seemed to matter because she had officially cracked. She still could barely register where she was as she stared into his revolting face and spat,

"I was going to give _myself_ the best gift of all this year and finally fire you," she growled like an animal, "But fuck you; you just earned yourself a guaranteed spot to rot in this Department for the rest of your life."

The Department was dead quiet. The board members poked their heads out of the meeting room at the sound of the commotion. Everyone watched as Draco, silent as the grave, set his form down on the desk beside Hermione and himself, filled in a vote against the Charter, signed it despite it being anonymous, and slammed it against the wall before thundering out of the Department.

The paper sliced through the air like the blade of a knife through Hermione's heart before coming to rest innocently on the floor. She stared at it blankly.

"Miss Granger," she looked up with wild and helpless eyes towards the board room, "Is everything alright?"

"Fine!" She exclaimed far too brightly, smoothing out her blazer maniacally "All is fine here. I will just collect these," she motioned around, "And get you all on your way."

She shuffled around gathering the forms, sensing Mary and Parvati trying to catch her attention, then hurried over to the board leader depositing her fate in his arms.

"There you go," she intoned weakly, "Thank you."

He reached out to shake her hand and she barely noticed. Her mind was miles away plotting, scheming, roiling, and toiling. All the sadness, anger, and hurt from the past months culminated into a hard little ball in her chest, sending her emotions reeling as she practically sprinted for the refuge of her office.

If she had just held off for one more minute, if her life wasn't in such a downward spiral, if things were _different_...

At this moment Hermione Granger knew that if there was anything she could do to change things, anything at all, she would not hesitate to do it.

She should have just walked away.


	2. A Woman Friendless, Hopeless!

**OK Here is chapter two! I got some follows from the first chapter, but no reviews :( I'm curious to see what you guys think! Do you like where Hermione and Malfoy have gone so far? Did you like her being to boss? I thought it was a nice change to the typical "Malfoy boss" scenario. It makes much more sense that Hermione would earn that position than him...I'm trying to keep it believable. Did you enjoy the irony of Hermione placing him inadvertently in her employment? Anyways, next chapter!**

Chapter Two: A Woman Friendless, Hopeless!

Hermione fought her way through the hordes of press and flashbulbs seeking out the solace of the London tube that would whisk her away to her secret muggle flat on Perrin's Walk.

"Miss Granger how is this new failure affecting your already unstable state?"

"Hermione! Is it true you performed an Unforgiveable Curse on Draco Malfoy!"

"Miss Granger! Are you resigning from your position after this phenomenal failure?"

By now news of her outburst and the failure of her legislation would have reached Timbuktu. She set her jaw with determination and continued to slog her way through them; not caring who she elbowed or stepped on to escape. She felt a familiar hand settle on her arm from out of nowhere and begin to swat the reporters away.

"No harassment on Ministry grounds!" the arm's owner bellowed, "Clear out of the way! Make room!"

She looked up into familiar green eyes and felt her heart clench; it was Harry. He had her away from the mass in moments and stood shielding her protectively. Her eyes shone with emotion and appreciation.

"Thank you," she managed through the lump in her throat, "I'm sorry for-"

He shook his head to silence her, "I love you Hermione and I just want, we all want, to do anything to make sure you're alright."

She nodded and blinked back tears; she desperately didn't want to be caught crying on camera, "I know," she whispered, "I have to go. Please give my love to," she hesitated, "To everyone. Apologize to Ginny for me for not turning up to your New Year's Day engagement lunch," she started away on the dizzying route she had mapped out to lose the reporters,

"Hermione!" Harry reached out to her already retreating form, "Please wait! Where can I find you?"

"I'll see you soon I promise!" she had to raise her voice over the howl of winter wind now. Harry looked dubious in response, "I _promise_ Harry!"

She watched his body vanish as she trotted away and he waved her off. She really was planning on getting in touch with Harry and Ginny soon, she just wanted to be completely settled first. She still had not decided when and if she would reveal where she was living now. It would all depend on how things panned out...

She shrugged away the thought as she wound her way into the comfort of muggle downtown and away from the deafening crowds back at work. As the imminent threat faded away Hermione felt the day's events come flooding back to her, sincerely unwelcomed.

She stopped to stare forlornly into a boutique's window to distract herself; a beautiful pair of boots stared back at her before she focused in on her own frowning reflection.

Almost all of her life had been spent under a microscope. This hadn't bothered her too much when it had been filled with success, fabulous friends and family, and a wonderful boyfriend. Now, it felt as if her entire world was continuously imploding upon her and the press was determined to painstakingly chronicle every agonizing moment. She had thought, hoped, her life could sink no lower after that fateful day in December – but it seemed days like this existed to remind her how wrong she was.

Could someone use up all of their good fortune and then have years of misery and heartache thrust upon them to restore karmic balance to the universe?

She sighed as she returned her focus to her visage: Hermione knew she was not an unattractive woman, a fact that became apparent after the Yule Ball, but she was also not constantly glamorous, particularly well-dressed, or trendy and the paper always made sure to point this out. Though they set her on a pedestal as National Heroine they also loved nothing more than to watch the mighty fall. Her breakup had provided the Wizarding World with the perfect opportunity to watch highly publicized greatness come crashing down; it gave them a platform to point out just how much the muggleborn Hermione Granger with her too-unruly hair and her too-sensible flats still didn't truly belong in this world, her old insecurities crept up on her, especially not splashed across the covers of glossy magazines and anointed with untouchable celebrity status.

Hermione, fortunately, couldn't care less about the fame, the glory, or the many benefits she reaped from it, all she had cared about for the past few years was the increasing hassle it brought to her life. She didn't care that she didn't fit in: she loved her trademark unruly curls and opted to leave them natural in lieu of the popular sleek and straight style. She wore bulky and inexpensive office attire with aplomb; what did it matter if her bottom or bust was accentuated at the workplace? She unabashedly preferred boots to stilettos, jeans to a mini skirt, and a good book to an all night pub crawl. None of this meant that Hermione Granger was, "_physically incapable of letting loose and having fun_," as one article had so eloquently put it. She had just always possessed a wider array of interests than appearing on a best dressed list or attending the hottest club openings and was proud of it.

She moved on from the boutique and swung around to the stairwell leading down into the tube while surreptitiously checking for onlookers. It seemed the coast was clear.

Clearly, Hermione had no hang-ups about her bookworm or do-gooder status. She managed to snatch a seat and came face-to-face with her reflection again. She stared back at wide, brown eyes, gently arching eyebrows, ivory skin with a light dusting of freckles, a cute and sharp nose, full mouth, and aristocratic cheek bones – the situation was definitely far from hopeless. Yes, her skin was more sallow these days and her hair more dull, but she was no mountain troll!

The train lurched forward and she stopped her vain scrutiny telling herself to knock it off; she was being shallow and silly...

She was pretty sure she had nice breasts, her mind wandered again, _he_ had told her so. She bit back the pain and remembered how he said they were sizeable yet perky – the best kind. She snuck a glance down trying to appraise the situation through her multiple winter layers. Perky was not another word for tiny...right?

"Cut it out," she hissed to herself earning an unsettled look from a few fellow passengers. She ducked her head and pulled a book out of her purse trying to focus on the words. It was an intriguing inside look into the history of centaur slavery in farming.

She had been taking so much _crap_ lately, her mind chirped up again, it would be nice if the press wasn't so intent on documenting her every move. Maybe Draco Malfoy, lord curse his name, had it all right? Maybe what she needed was to slip off the face of the earth, "find" herself abroad, lay low upon her return, and never ever betray her emotions; running away from her current situation certainly was tempting, she mused with an arch smile.

The papers chased him just as badly as they did her; they were bent on casting him as some tortured bad boy which was completely barmy, but he seemed to tolerate it so well. He never got upset about anything! Nothing bothered him, barely even her though she undoubtedly pushed him farther than most dared. Today had been a rare display of emotion on his part and still his veneer had not really cracked.

She sighed and let her book fall closed on her lap. It was useless; she was in the middle of her sixty-fifth pity party this month and her mind wouldn't let it go until she had hashed it all out.

When had things gone so wrong that she was envying her arch-enemy _Draco Sodding Malfoy_?!

She huffed, if Hermione _had_ to pinpoint the exact moment, and she'd been contemplating it a lot over the past several weeks, it would have to be the day she showed Ron the office.

"Look at this office!" she remembered gushing, "It's lovely isn't it Ron? See? What did I tell you? I would have my own private office just like upstairs; they just moved this Department up here six months ago when I initially expressed interest," she confided with unsuppressed delight.

"It's fine Hermione," Ron answered in a less than enthusiastic tone which she did her best to ignore. He _had_ gone on the walk she had insisted upon that morning, with the irresistibly brisk scent of fall in the air, despite it being the end of August and them being late. She could feel her birthday creeping up around the corner and with it a secret thrill at what that might entail – she would be twenty-four which meant she and Ron had been together for over _five years_. Was it so wrong that she couldn't help but hope he would be asking a _certain_ question come September?

"Our office is much nicer than this," she heard him say.

"Oh Ron," she pouted good-naturedly, "I don't want a nice office," she explained gently, "I just want to work _here_; fighting for the rights of the disenfranchised of the Wizarding World. I don't know how I didn't realize it sooner! I've spent all these years searching when it was right under my nose all along with my work in S.P.E.W."

"Well Hermione," A flash of white-blond hair caught her eye as Ron responded and they moved to make an exit, "If this is what you really want..."

She paused and narrowed her eyes in the hair's direction. Was that..._Draco Malfoy_?! She wracked her brain – oh _shit_. She'd forgotten that she had personally assigned the insufferable git to this department almost six years ago; of all of life's ironies, she bemoaned.

But, wait a tick, a satisfying feeling of smugness spread throughout her at the memory of placing one of Hogwart's most famous bigots in the role of defending those he once loathed so much. And, he was still in a cubicle, if she wasn't mistaken, which meant if she took the position, and she definitely planned on it, she would get to be his _boss_. Oh, how a piece of seemingly rotten luck could just as easily become a happy accident!

"Oh Ron!" she squealed and hugged him, "This is so exciting! Oh I'm just so…_happy_! Let's go out to that Indian place to celebrate OK?"

"OK, well, err-I actually promised-"

"Ron! This is huge news!" she emphasized, "We've got to go out and celebrate," she went on as they sailed through the doors and out into the hall; her mind full of all the revenge she would exact on her school tormentor.

When was it she had seen him last? Five? Four years ago? She scanned her thoughts recalling the moment on the muggle ferry headed from Holyhead to Dublin. Her family had been attempting a trip together to pick up the pieces just over a year after the war and she was doing her best to forget the thing altogether. The papers had reported heavily on the trip; insinuating it marked "Trouble in Paradise" to be vacationing without Ron only a year into their relationship and she finally admitted to herself what a relief it would be to take a trip outside of the magical world. She constantly reassured everyone the attention didn't affect her, but after a full year of constant hounding the novelty of it all had sort of begun to..._wear thin_.

She clutched her coat tighter to her body and buried her head into her hat against the unseasonable August chill and feelings of guilt. She knew she should be grateful for all of the blessings and generosities she had received over the past year, but sometimes, in the deepest recesses of her heart, she wished to be invisible for a little while. Not always having the pressure to be the Wizarding World's golden girl; a brilliant and tireless, but _fabricated_ war hero held up as the penultimate female role model for all generations.

Her dad placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder as if sensing her disquiet and she gave him a small smile. _This trip could be good_ she told herself, _her family really needed the private time together._

"'Scuse me," a gruff voice sounded while unceremoniously shoving her into her father's side. A tall and lanky form with a shock of white-blond hair strode by her and the words were out of her mouth before she even consciously formed the thought-

"Malfoy?" Shock and not a small amount of revulsion rang in her voice. She pressed a hand to her mouth immediately before the man turned around; why had she said that? Why the hell would _he_ be on a _muggle_ boat? She huddled closer to her father hoping the outburst would pass unnoticed-

"_Granger_?" Hard, grey eyes stared down at her from a disconcertingly haunted face. She felt her heart rate quicken despite herself. Her parents, thankfully, were staying out of it.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she finally sputtered, the query she didn't voice of his presence on muggle transportation hung in the air.

"It's a free boat last time I checked Granger," he shrugged his pack higher up on a broad shoulder, "Besides, I couldn't show my face at home defending muggles, mudbloods, and half-breeds without observing the filth first," his eyes glowed with menace and hate and she crossed her arms defensively. They stared with loathing at each other for what felt like years.

"Good to see some things never change," she finally settled on saying, choosing not to address his jab at the placement she had given him, "I'll stay out of your way if you stay out of mine."

"You're still pathetic," he sneered, "Little, naive, good girls will never be in danger of crossing paths with me."

Her parents must have read the hostility in their exchange and were beginning to approach them; Malfoy seemed to materialize into the crowd just as they reached her side. She left the confrontation with one question burned distractingly into her mind;

If little, naive, and good girls never crossed paths with Draco Malfoy, then how come she just had?

Hermione shook the unsettling thought from her mind as Ron held open the door to the restaurant for her and motioned her inside returning her to reality.

Lunch was delicious as usual; the crisp air left her feeling more awake and energized than she had in months. Although she was feeling fantastic she couldn't help but notice that Ron seemed...distant. She had thought they would both benefit from the time apart her new position would offer – they already lived together and had for the last two years and there was nothing like a little absence to make the heart grow fonder. Plus, she would be able to step right in as the Department Head since the old boss was retiring – it was practically unheard of for a young person to acquire such a prestigious position! Not to mention the pay increase, the added vacation time, the new benefits...all things they could both use.

"Ron?" she reached her hand across the table and found his as he finished paying the bill, a question on her voice. His warm blue eyes met hers steadily, "I love you."

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, "I love you too."

"Are you angry I'm leaving the Aurors?"

"No," his gaze was firm, but she couldn't help but notice the reddening of his ears, "I know this switch will make you happy."

Yes, if Hermione Granger had to put a finger on it ,she thought as she finished the trek home on foot, that would be the moment when everything took a wicked turn.

HP*

Slap him once shame on you, slap him twice shame on..._him_?

Draco slammed open the door to the filthiest pub he knew in the heart of muggle Chelsea and motioned for one of their ridiculous shots served in teacups. Sure, it took a lot more muggle liquor to get him pissed, but it wasn't the buzz he was chasing at the moment.

It was the _freedom_.

No doubt this latest misadventure would be splashed over every paper tomorrow morning, if the masses he crashed through at the Ministry were any indication, and he had no plan to add anymore fuel to the fire by being seen out soaking his sorrows in alcohol. One invaluable thing he had learned from his distant cousin and his friend while abroad was the sanctuary to be found in muggle bars. The sanctuary to be found in muggle everything really.

Sticking to muggle areas during his wanderings had saved him many a headache of news returning home – the spineless weasels of the tabloids and papers just didn't _go_ there. After his initial shock and a steep learning curve, spending the majority of his time around muggles had become second-nature to him and he had adopted this modus operandi upon his return to Wizarding England with continued success.

To his own naive surprise, even after four years without much of a word about him, the papers dogged him endlessly upon his widely publicized return almost two years ago. He had almost thought he would be able to saunter in without notice, forgetting the brutality of the press after having been away for so long, when over two hundred reporters had tailed him on his first foray into wizarding London and others remained camped outside the Manor for the entirety of his stay there.

Draco Malfoy didn't even know why they found him so interesting anyway. Not that he would ever admit it. That was strictly off record.

As far as he could tell it was all centered on some bollocks narrative they created about him being an "untamed," "troubled," and "tortured," but eligible bachelor simply waiting for the day he would be saved by the love of some incredible witch. One would think he, not Potter, was the hero of the war the way they went on and on about him - his money, good looks, emotional stamina, chocolate frog card collection - in almost every issue. He recalled one particularly abominable article from Witch Weekly:

_When Draco Malfoy is not spending his time caring for his mentally unstable mother or visiting the St Mungo's Children's Ward with a hefty donation, he enjoys classic literature from all disciplines and yearning for that fateful introduction to his dream woman. _

_He emerged from the war and his four-year long sabbatical from the Wizarding World a changed, albeit damaged man, struggling to find his place among the ashes of the war away from his family's dark past while still holding onto his history. After two failed relationships and his famous baggage will this unfairly labelled 'Bad Boy' ever get his happy ending?_

Classic literature from all disciplines? Yearning for that fateful introduction to his dream woman? They made him sound like some sensitive, lost pouf! They had also mentioned his "two failed relationships" which enraged him; Malfoy took every care possible to keep his life private. He had resorted to dating muggles for the most part to ensure it. And yet the public devoured this type of horrid and fictitious rag which had resulted in a legion of fans – young and old – desperate to meet the troubled yet redeemed Draco Malfoy; every woman wanted a man she could fix or so it's said. Everyone wanted a piece of something that did not exist i.e. Draco Malfoy the Emotional Sap.

The reality of his being a cold and self-serving bastard did not seem to have an effect, however, on his ample opportunity for flings. The articles, he admitted, may have helped him in that department; he had already got what he wanted by the time their illusion of Draco Malfoy was shattered.

It also didn't help that his mother followed and collected everything printed about him; this specific article had grated on his nerves so much that he had found her copy and burned it. Another thing he kept off the record. Malfoy did not like anyone to think they could shake him; his was a mask of complete and cool indifference. To the world he needed to appear untouchable.

Perhaps that was why the public was so rabid for anything it could get?

"That'll be 30 quid," the hefty bartender croaked as Malfoy tossed back his seventh whiskey.

_No_, Malfoy thought as he passed the notes to the man, _Granger wore her heart on her sleeve and they harassed her just as much as ever_. His pulse raised and he ground his teeth, _Granger_, he banged his fist against the counter, _the cause of all of his grief_.

He tossed back his final shot feeling a pleasant buzz warm him; she deserved all of the abuse she received after today. Maybe, if she stopped making such a willing and wretched display of herself, stopped believing that she could somehow solve the problems of the entire world whilst somehow remaining unable to solve her own pitiful issues – he stopped himself. Why the fuck did he care? She had assaulted him in front of the entire office, he recalled darkly.

She had assaulted him for the _second bloody time_!

At least he had ruined her loathsome legislation. That thought would give him comfort for some days to come. It almost made all of the increased attention worth it.

He absentmindedly slid over a local, muggle paper as his buzz increased, grateful for the lack of his own photo, and flipped efficiently to the flats available for lease. Today's events had solidified the need for him to go _full muggle_. The only way to evade the rabid press was to retreat to the foreign and non-magical world which they dared not enter.

There was a nice-looking place just around the corner, he stroked the beginnings of stubble, but it was too close to his favourite bar for comfort. What about the "large studio just west of the Bayswater tube" in the muggle area of town? No...too close to Blaise and Pansy which could lead to detection.

_Large, full floor bachelor's pad complete with two full baths, study, and a view in the heart of Hampstead Village_.

Hmm. Now _that _sounded promising. He had been honestly interested in Hampstead when he'd mentioned to Blaise the other day...Draco tore out the add and slipped it into his breast pocket feeling encouraged; he may have single-handedly destroyed Granger's career and found himself the perfect retreat all in one day.

"Hello," a husky voice and distinctly female arm lay across his own and broke into his thoughts, "What's your poison?"

Draco looked up into smoky blue eyes taking in the manicured eyebrows, expertly applied makeup, and professionally blown-out auburn hair. He also knew when a muggle asked about poison, they wanted to know your drink of choice.

"Vodka straight," he answered stoically, knowing his indifference would only entice her more.

"Ooo the strong and silent type," she teased as she sat on the stool to his left, "I like that," she gave him a brazen stare, "Makes it more of a challenge."

He raised his eyebrows along with his new drink, "Cheers to challenges then," he countered, expending minimal effort to return her flirtations.

The woman, however, already couldn't get enough; her eyes shone with mischief and sex, "Cheers to overcoming them," she purred as their glasses _clinked _over locked eyes, she licked her lips, and they both downed their libations.

HP*

Hermione had just slurped down her third bowl of tomato soap and was warming her fuzzy sock-clad feet in front of the roaring sitting room fire with a contented sigh. She set her bowl on the floor and was about to pop open the top button on her pants when the paper suddenly shot out of the fireplace and into her unprepared head for the second time. "Oh!" she exclaimed and resisted the overwhelming urge to shred it apart with her bare hands.

Merlin only knew the horrible things it would say after today. She almost didn't want to know what it said. But-

Old habits die hard. She _had_ to know. She shakily smoothed out the front page:

_Granger and Malfoy the Slap Heard 'Round the World: Is this Latest Development the Result of a Lover's Spat?_

_After a routine review board commission held this morning at the Department for the Protection of Magical Rights, Hermione Granger suddenly assaulted the unsuspecting Draco Malfoy without appearance of provocation. Could this be proof of a lover's quarrel? It would indeed shed some light on the unexpected breakup of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley that took the Wizarding World by storm this last December. The two called off their six year relationship seemingly without reason and a charge of infidelity would certainly clarify the strange circumstances surrounding the split. Draco Malfoy, arguably the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelor, has continuously claimed he remains single, highly suspicious for a man of his age and status, for all of these years and new evidence of a relationship between him and Hermione begins to paint a more logical picture of the situation. We at the Prophet will continue to be the first to break any new developments to our invaluable readers._

_For those who don't know, before their employment at the Ministry Draco and Hermione were last seen together off the coast of Ireland during her family vacation five and a half years ago..._

The article went on to outline the "romantic" history the two shared as Hermione attempted to quell the rage boiling up inside her at the absurdity of it all. Her and Malfoy?! Seriously?! That was how the Prophet was going to spin this? And they _knew_ about Ireland? She moaned and smacked the paper against her forehead; what the hell? Did these low lives have eyes everywhere? She shivered and stood up to pull a curtain closed; she was definitely going to have to be more careful from now on.

Although, she had recalled earlier, Ireland in fact had _not_ been the last time she had seen Malfoy before they began working together. No, she had conveniently forgotten about that unfortunate encounter while she was on vacation with Ron in Australia. Thank Merlin the paper did not know about that!

Hermione turned and paced in front of her fireplace returning to the matter at hand; _her and Malfoy?_ In a _lover's quarrel_? She collapsed back into the armchair full of loathing; self-loathing, outer-loathing, everything-loathing.

She was at her wit's end. She was enduring the worst heartbreak of her life and had just suffered possibly the worst setback in her career; why couldn't she just brave through this like a normal person without the eyes of the entire magical community watching her?

She felt like the failure the Boggart had revealed to her so many years ago during that Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Lupin. She could still remember the false Professor McGonagall floating out of that cupboard and telling her she had failed all of her O.W.L.s, she shivered violently at the memory, and this Charter was supposed to be her last vestige of hope to save her from becoming her worst fear. Now look at her; she had truly hit rock bottom.

What the bloody hell did normal people do when they went through this type of thing anyway? Drink, get a makeover, and shag everyone with a pulse? Surround themselves with cats? Her late and beloved Crookshanks sprung to mind and brought on a fresh flood of tears. Oh bloody hell she was such a first rate mess! She needed to get out of this flat, she needed some sort of social interaction, she needed a _life_.

Well, fuck it, she stormed into the kitchen and began wrapping a thick, red, wool scarf around her neck swiping angrily at the tears rolling down her cheeks. She deserved to have all of those things – the cheesy makeover and possibly shagging – so she was going out right now, eight on a Monday night, to get her haircut, it had grown unmanageably long anyways, then proceed to get absolutely pissed at the most inappropriate and dodgy pub she could find. Possibly drunk takeout for the way home because she was definitely planning on calling in sick tomorrow - caution and responsibility be damned!

She shrugged on her long coat and sensible boots, grabbed her purse, and stalked down the stairs and out into the frigid and damp winter night.

Perrin's Walk was only a four minute walk away from the heart of Hampstead Village which glowed comfortingly even on this coldest and most brutal of evenings. Her body tensed against the biting wind as she crossed onto the major thoroughfare, or the Heath, which was surprisingly packed with pedestrians, shops, cafes, and – yes – pubs on such an unpleasant January night. Hermione licked her lips at the warm and cozy scenes inside; they all looked so _inviting_, but which one to pick?

_Elements Salon _she read as she walked and came to an abrupt halt, forcing many perturbed muggles to squeeze around her. And it was open, she realized with excitement, her face creased into a semi-deranged grin as she opened the door and skipped inside.

Gleaming wood floors, shining equipment, and smiling attractive faces greeted her. It was perfect and it was high time for something new.

HP*

A few hours and many drinks later found Draco and Charlotte, _was it Charlotte?_, unsteadily entering the Holly Bush just off of the busy high street in Hampstead Village. She was undoubtedly much worse off than him since she had no magical blood to aid in her tolerance. Draco was satisfied with the distraction of an attractive woman for the evening and an excuse to avoid returning to his Bayswater flat and dealing with the onslaught of questions from Blaise and Pansy.

"Two Pimms!" Charlotte slurred while flashing a rather indecent amount of cleavage to the barkeep. Draco felt his temples begin to throb.

"You OK with a Pimms love?" she asked with heavy-lidded eyes, "I know it's not a particularly 'manly' drink...but I thought you could handle it."

He unceremoniously dumped her on a seat and spoke close to her ear, "That sounds tolerable enough," his hot breath whispered against the shell of it and he felt her shiver.

He remained standing to her right, there was a lack of chairs and he liked to think himself a gentleman in this respect, and gazed out into the wintry street as Charlotte began chatting up the bar's willing customers. He picked up the Pimms and swilled the near-overflowing contents around the glass in a hypnotic swirl. He had half a mind to check out the flat in the area, but figured it was an errand best left for another day.

Draco was about to take a sip when something on the floor caught his eye. Was that a copy of _The Prophet_? In a _muggle_ bar?

He stooped and retrieved the paper quickly, confirming his suspicion, and stood scanning the bar while keeping his head low. It was a pretty useless attempt to remain inconspicuous; his hair betrayed him wherever he went.

He flattened the muddy paper on the bar while trying to sense any hint of magic in the room. He could detect nothing out of the ordinary; only the neutral blood of muggles.

He took a swig of his drink, wiped off the particularly grimy headline on his sleeve, and almost spat his Pimms all over himself:

_Granger and Malfoy the Slap Heard 'Round the World: Is this Latest Development the Result of a Lover's Spat?_

The throbbing in his temples increased tenfold; what fresh hell? Was the Prophet not above anything for increased sales these days?

He continued reading begrudgingly:

_After a routine review board commission held this morning at the Department for the Protection of Magical Rights, Hermione Granger suddenly assaulted the unsuspecting Draco Malfoy without appearance of provocation._

Well, he admitted, at least they correctly painted him as the innocent victim. He went on as the article insinuated that a relationship between himself and Granger would help explain the reason for her breakup with Weasley. If anyone actually believed this load of crap he would recommend them for immediate admittance to the St. Mungo's mental ward.

_For those who don't know, before their employment at the Ministry Draco and Hermione were last seen together off the coast of Ireland during her family vacation four and a half years ago._

Draco frowned, swatting away a decidedly inebriated Charlotte who was now trying to get his attention, _how did they know about Ireland_? He had been so sure all of his travels had remained completely unknown to the press back home.

He remembered the painful encounter with Hermione on the ferry. He had just begun feeling secure for the first time since the war, not always checking over his shoulder for embittered Death Eaters seeking revenge, when a voice called his name and chilled him to the bone.

"Malfoy?!"

Yes, Draco started uncharacteristically, it had sounded exactly like that.

"I said Malfoy?"

Draco's entire body grew taught and he exhaled dramatically - of course she was here. _Of course_, it was just the bloody perfect ending to this day.

He turned slowly and drew himself to his full and impressive height,

"I hope you're not stalking me to apologize Granger," was it his alcohol addled mind or did her hair not look as awful as usual? "Trust me when I say nothing gave me as much pleasure as destroying your bloody Charter today. I didn't even have to feint anger over any mistreatment; you were generous enough to do that part for me."

HP*

Hermione was exhausted from her walk along the Heath and ducked onto a side street seeking refuge at any willing place. She spotted the inviting Holly Bush while fingering her now shoulder-length hair that fell in sleek, shiny, and bouncy curls, although still in wild disarray, around her oversized scarf.

She reveled in the wave of warm air that washed over her when she opened the door and headed straight for an empty seat at the bar. That was until an all-too-familiar white-blond head stopped her in her tracks.

This was the _second_ time she had caught him in the muggle world. What the bloody hell? Why her?

"Malfoy?" she asked drily. Was the freezing air getting to her head or was he drinking a Pimms?!

He stood rigid and ignored her. She huffed, "I said Malfoy?"

He turned with agonizing slowness and she saw him draw up to his tallest height, she rolled her eyes, he had quite the flair for dramatics for being such a cold-hearted bastard.

"I hope you're not stalking me to apologize Granger," he looked almost unsteady on his feet, but his voice was as vitriolic and even as ever, "Trust me when I say nothing gave me as much pleasure as destroying your bloody Charter today. I didn't even have to feint anger over any mistreatment; you were generous enough to do that part for me."

Rage pounded through her veins and she felt high off of the rush. She needed a good fight tonight and he was the perfect opponent, "Yes," her voice was deadly, "And now I have sufficient cause to drown you under a mound of paperwork for the next six months until the Appeals Hearing goes through," she sighed and toyed with a strand of hair, "It's _so nice_ being the boss," she saw his jaw twitch, "It's got to be so _difficult_ for you being my inferior," she let the word roll off of her tongue like a curse. His eyes grew dark with suppressed anger; she saw danger flicker there,

"Shouldn't you be taking out all of this pitiful, pent up rage on Weasley?" he spat and her eyes narrowed to slits, "Or is he too busy shagging _attractive_ witches to give a damn?"

Sharp thrusts of the memory of Ron's face as he broke her heart, only one day after Harry and Ginny's engagement and thirteen days before Christmas, stabbed deep in her gut.

"_Seeing them_," his blue eyes had swam with tears, "_And what they have...I realized – I'm so sorry Hermione, but I realized we will never have that together_."

"Fuck you!" she choked out to Malfoy.

"Already got an offer," he nodded to an attractive muggle at his side, "Sorry." His eyes were deep, black pits of gleeful evil.

"However much you may want it," he continued and lifted something in front of her face, "Tell me, did you leak this story to the press yourself?" He pointed to the line about Ireland, "Something you want to _confess_ Granger?"

The article. He had it. She swatted it out of his hands and onto the ground, feeling her face redden with embarrassment, anger, and misery.

"Why would I ever," she ground out, "Leak anything to _The Prophet?"_ he folded his arms serenely across himself, "In case you hadn't noticed they are perfectly content with making my life a living hell."

"Oh come now," he clicked his tongue, "Let's be honest Granger. It isn't fair to blame the Prophet for the multitude of failures you accomplish solely on your own."

"Can you please go die in a hole already," she roughed past him and sat on a chair,

"Hit a nerve did I Granger?"

"I'm pretty sure I already," she motioned to the barkeep, "_Hit_ a nerve earlier,"

"Funny," he deadpanned, turning back towards the bar, "Remind me again, are you referring to the assault that may singlehandedly destroy your career? Because if so, I take full credit for that."

"Ugh," she groaned and clutched her head in her hands, propping her elbows up on the worn-wood counter, "Somebody please get me a drink."

"I'm more than happy to escape your presence Granger," his voice was close and his breath tickled her cheek unsettlingly, "Just as soon as Charlotte here finishes her drink. But know this, I may be trapped in your sodden Department for the rest of my life, but I will never be the heartbroken, pathetic, miserable, failure of a person you are at this very moment. I would rather be your inferior any day than ever have to be you."

She felt numb as the harsh honesty of his words washed over her. Draco Malfoy may hate her, but what he said rang true. She was pathetic and miserable - a verifiable failure even - it was why Ron had left her, why things had turned out the way they had...

She turned to muster a lame retort, but Malfoy was already gone. The bartender set a massive drink in front of her. She gave him a puzzled look,

"Courtesy of the young man, it's a gin cocktail called The Last Word and he ordered it special."

Hermione grimaced and took a huge, wordless gulp.

_The last word_. She would see about that.

HP*

Three hours later and well after midnight Hermione was stumbling drunk around her new neighbourhood despite the help of her magical blood. Maybe it was the muggleborn in her that made her more susceptible?

She was searching for a private place to apparate home since she was in no condition for even the short walk. The world was a blur of lights, sounds, and snowy white that spun around like a Carousel. Oh dear. She clutched onto a lamppost for support. Her eyes focused in on a particularly vulgar neon flashing sign.

_G. Graham Psychic Clairvoyants – Psychics, Mediums, Astrology, Plus Tarot - guarantee clarity, healing, and understanding._

_We give you the vision you need to change your life._

Hermione scoffed, but couldn't tear herself away. She didn't believe in psychics and barely considered Divination worthy of study at Hogwarts. But _Change your life_ flashed seductively at her and copious amounts of alcohol chased her layers of inhibitions far, far away.

What could it hurt? She strolled towards the door, flirting with the idea. She knew it was bollocks, complete fiction, so what harm could it do? She opened the door and felt the distinct spark of magic zing through her. Interesting.

The room was roughly the size of a closet – little more than a glorified booth really. It was dark aside from the glow of a dated screen attached to some sort of muggle video game contraption. Hermione felt her heart fall the tiniest bit; what a disappointment.

_Hello_ the screen lit up suddenly making her jump.

_Welcome to G. Graham Psychic Clairvoyants. Please place the palm of your hand on the crystal ball to begin your reading_

She eyed the machine warily, but her hand was already reaching out of its own accord. Her fingertips got a shock as her palm covered the smooth and glowing surface of the glass orb. Clouds erupted within it and lightning followed making hypnotic paths to her fingertips, she felt oddly relaxed and detached from everything as she watched it.

_Now_ the screen continued _Ask me what it is you want to know. Tell me your deepest desires. Talk to me._

Hermione talked. And once she started, she found she couldn't stop.

"My boyfriend, the love of my life, left me and I have no idea how to get him back because I know – I know – we are meant to be together, and then no one understands why I work so hard to protect the rights of the disenfranchised in my community, the press hates me and is determined to ruin my life, everyone around me seems to have found happiness and a place of belonging except me, my parents only care that I'm not yet married, my friends seem to all be _getting_ married, I may have just ruined my career, I've been cutting myself off from everyone, and my worst enemy seems to make it his personal goal to destroy me," she heaved in a huge gulp of air. A hiccup escaped her lips.

_So you want to know how to win your boyfriend back, regain the respect and admiration of your friends, family, and community, thwart your enemy, and achieve all the goals of your career?_

"Well," Hermione felt as if the machine made her sound fairly selfish, "Yes I-I suppose. I don't want all of those things handed to me necessarily I just..." she sniffled, "I just wish things hadn't gone so wrong. I wish everything would just go back to way it was before it all went wrong."

The screen went blank. Hermione was frozen to the spot. _Please come back_ she felt herself yearning absurdly, _please tell me what to do..._

_Well_ her heart leapt for joy at the screen's return _I cannot undo the past, but I will say this: get rest, get moving, drink plenty of tea, and consider getting away for a bit. 40 quid please._

The screen went blank again and Hermione balked – _40 QUID?! _And that was it? Drink tea? Get rest? Her bloody grandmother could have told her that! She grumbled while rummaging around her purse when the screen flashed again:

_Bene diagnoscitur, bene curator_ _I will take care of the rest _it read before going completely black.

Well, Hermione thought as the miniscule space was plunged into complete darkness and she gropingly placed the pound notes in the insert, that was certainly ominous.

Feeling no different, OK slightly more nauseous, than when she had entered the booth she stepped outside, took a cursory look around, and apparated home not really caring if anyone saw. Hopefully they too would be too drunk to remember.

With a blissfully empty head she collapsed onto her willing and inviting bed.

Yes, she decided, hitting rock bottom like a normal person definitely had its merits. She would have to do this more often.

**Thoughts appreciated! Can you tell what is coming next? What did that "muggle" machine get up to?**


End file.
